Maybe it’s that we’ve learned how to accept life now. Maybe, in some manner, we’re figuring out how to patch together a shade of what was once our daily routines. Or maybe it’s this, from the philosopher Jeff Goldblum:
Whatever has happened, small moments of grace have surfaced–some of wonder and others of blessed normalcy.
For instance, mourning doves built a nest in this weird chandelier I made for our back porch. We are now excitedly on egg hatching watch.
The lilacs have never bloomed so fat and abundant. Three bouquets smell up the house and I left a couple of branches across the street for the new neighbors who, God help them, just had twins.
The son and I spent time together, the first we’ve seen of each other since his older brother’s birthday on March 1. We roamed around south Brooklyn, somehow managing to keep at least six feet of space between us. He took photographs, I scribbled down notes. We didn’t hug, stop to eat or for a beer, but we had the kind of talks and good laughs we always have.
I caught the Navy’s Blue Angles and Air Force’s Thunderbirds barreling above the city in tribute to all the medical workers.
After several weeks of increasing angst, the husband finally believes me that he isn’t starting to look like the strange man from the movie, Eraserhead. In fact, his longer hair is very reminiscent of the boy I fell in love with.
My aunt was a little down so I ordered her a bunch of tulips. Chickens were crowing in the background the whole time I was placing my order. “Do you have chickens?” I asked the man when we were finished. “Yes, I am sorry, I am working from home.” “Where are you?” “The Philippines.” “They’re so wonderful! Stay safe, ok?” “Thank you, you too, Madam” he said.
We found a dog that needs a home–like our home!
Tom and I managed to meet after one of his marathon cycling around the city. A pre-Civil War warehouse by the river is being demolished and we really had to capture its beauty.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s annual gala is Monday and a fantastic group of Gen Z women behind High Fashion Twitter are hosting a virtual gala that you and I are invited to! Lady Gaga showed up in this last year….
I’ve already put aside my usual get-up to practice how not to trip over my pretend ensemble’s train.
Come with me by posting your own get-up on Twitter with the hashtag #HFMetGala2020!
I’m not saying anxiety doesn’t remain astronomically high. We are still hearing about sick friends and neighbors’ deaths. The line outside Costco continues to stretch 3 blocks and empty shelves line almost every aisle in our local market. The streets remain sparse and ambulances are heard throughout the day. Our neighborhood breaks out in clapping, pots clanging, whistle blowing, bells ringing, horns blaring tribute to the entire medical profession, package and mail delivers, factory workers, city and state employees who are keeping us afloat.
But the wonder of what has always been around us appears more vital: Nesting birds and spring flowers. Babies, loved ones, world connections. Dreams and fantasies. I know how lucky I am so far.
I also understand my luck may very well wear out at any second. There’s no doubt things will be different. Our daily routines will be astonishingly transformed in ways we haven’t even begun to imagine. Rebuilding will be daunting and painful. And, yet, if we look around, life is stubbornly wheedling it’s way back to us. That’s got to be enough for now.